


Kinship

by penandfink



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Canon - Book, Cunnilingus, F/M, Future Fic, Half-Sibling Incest, House Stark, Incest, Kink Meme, POV Third Person, Porn, Sibling Incest, Starkcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-20
Updated: 2009-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penandfink/pseuds/penandfink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Lady of Winterfell welcomes the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch as he visits a rebuilt, broken castle. This can be seen as either AU or futurefic at the time of the writing, but probably will end up AU!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinship

Sansa welcomes him home at the gate, just as Father would welcome his brother Benjen when she was a child. But Uncle Ben would always embrace Father warmly, while Jon kisses her hand at a full arm's length and comes no closer. "Such a cold reception, my lord." She employs a tone she learned as Alayne Stone, imperious and coy.

"I spend much of my time in the cold, Lady Stark. I pray you forgive me if I have forgotten how to be otherwise."

In childhood she had never been as close to him as the others. Perhaps he is wishing it was Arya here instead, or Bran. She had waited more than a year before pressing her claim, but no word of their siblings had ever come. _Surely he cannot blame me for that?_ Perhaps she simply looks too much like her mother. For Petyr that had been the best part, but she cannot imagine Jon would find it so.

"Come inside, then, and we shall try to refresh your memory."

~ ~ ~

  
In her lord father's solar Sansa can barely keep her mind on the matter at hand. Jon has asked Lord Stannis for ships at Eastwatch, but the red woman has his ear still and Jon was not able to persuade Stannis in the end. Lord Manderly pacifies Jon with pleasing words that carry the sound of promises, but Sansa knows games when she hears them, even if Jon seems taken in. She knows as well that Jon's quest will be futile until Stannis and the dragon queen settle their contest, and that Stannis will likely lose. But she says nothing, watches the men at their business, wonders how she will tolerate another night of boorish jests and quick-made marriage proposals.

She wonders if Jon has ever thought to marry.

~ ~ ~

  
At table she seats Jon next to herself, and who is to criticize if she does? He is the lord commander of the Night's Watch, as honored a guest as any Winterfell could host. She knows that he understands this too, for though she can sense his annoyance when she brushes her leg against his under the table, he seems somewhat relaxed at last.

"To your health, lord commander," she says, turning to him with the silver wine cup raised to her lips. Somewhere down table Lord Manderly tells an unfunny joke that everyone laughs at, and if anyone notices how she keeps her gaze on her half brother's face for longer than is proper, they do not say.

Venison is served and songs of star-crossed love are sung by the hearth, and when the men are in their cups Sansa stands to excuse herself for the evening. "I should very much like it if my dear brother would escort me to my chambers. I know I would be safe in his company."

Jon frowns. "My lady, surely you know that a man of the Night's Watch forswears all past ties. I am brother only to my men."

"If you are no longer my brother, lord commander, then so much the better." No one else in the hall is sober enough to understand, and she knows he will not refuse her such a small courtesy.

Sansa sleeps in the cool dark chambers that once were Lord Eddard's. Jon asks her why their father's rooms, and not Lady Catelyn's.

"It's so warm there, it makes me clammy when I sleep. I feel clean here."

Jon nods, understanding. He's always had so much of the north in him. She realizes how much she does, too.

"Goodnight, then," he bows politely, but she calls out his name with a soft yearning, and his eyes are pleading in return. "Sansa, don't."

"You don't know what it's like," she says, suddenly helpless when there is no one else to watch them, no one to gauge her performance. "I'm the only one left here. Everyone else is gone." It's a matter of mere paces before she is but inches from him, and though she knows it is wanton her breasts ache for his touch and she cannot keep from guiding his hands to them. "Please, Jon."

He flits a thumb along the fine silk over her nipple, shuts his eyes tight when it hardens for him. "My vows."

"There are ways around that," she insists, and recalls only then that Sansa Stark would never have known about those ways. _Alayne Stone knew them well_, she thinks bitterly, and prays that he does not inquire.

"Sansa, you're my sister."

"Am I?"

"Our father," he implores, his dark grey eyes finding hers, "what would he say?"

Sansa flushes hotly. He looks so like Father, and he's making her so very, very wet. She takes his hands firmly in hers and walks backwards to the bed, sitting with her legs parted wide in the direction of the closed door. With a graceful twist she has her skirts around her waste, and his breath sharpens when she brings his hand down to feel her readiness.

She is about to lean her head back and lose herself in his touch, but suddenly his hand withdraws, and Sansa's heart sinks as he walks toward the door. _It is too much for him, too many betrayals. He is still a man of honor._ Jon's reach is not for the knob, however, but the latch. Quietly he locks them inside, and when he returns he's kneeling at her feet like some gallant knight. He touches her face, tracing the fine contours of her cheek and jaw. Sansa cannot remember the last time a man touched her with such gentleness. _Is this what he wants? To devote himself to a great lady, highborn and beautiful?_ Vaguely she remembers a time when such a thing would have delighted her, and she both envies and pities how he has managed to keep such dreams after everything that has happened. "Oh, Jon. What do you even know of the world?"

He is hesitant when he first reaches for the folds of her gown, but Sansa can see how badly he wants her once he bares her body. He drops his head between her thighs, and she has only a moment to wonder before she feels his tongue on her, probing her lips apart. She moans, far too loudly, and he puts a finger to her lips before giving her another kiss. She expects his mouth to fuck her quickly and carelessly, but he is slow and thoughtful and shame washes over her anew at her own easy lustfulness. _Alayne was the wicked one, not me. Jon doesn't know any bastard girl named Alayne, only the lady Sansa Stark._

Jon takes the time to ensure her pleasure, tapping patiently at her nub as her desire builds and builds. It is more than Harry could ever make her feel and Petyr would ever allow her to, and she begins to mouth a silent chant. "It's right, it's right, it's right ..."

He reaches up blindly to push her back onto the mattress, holds her down at the breast while his tongue plunges deeper inside her. She bounces up against him and bores her toes into the floor. "Please let me," she begs, needing so desperately to arch. She hears his hand slip down to fumble at his laces, and by the time she manages to look up through heavy-lidded eyes, he is already pumping himself, already jerking and gasping there beside the bed. When his mouth returns to her cunt they whimper in unison, and for those moments, Sansa feels no pain.

Her climax comes hard, and she has to pinch her nipples to keep from screaming. Jon finishes soon after, slumps forward onto her belly as his ragged breathing slows. His hands run up and down her thighs, calming both of them as he whispers her name over and over. She is afraid for the moment to end, afraid that once he is in his right mind again he will take her straight to the heart tree to beg the gods' forgiveness. Sansa does not want to understand how something like this could need anyone's forgiveness.

He looks up and smiles shyly, and Sansa realizes she need not fear. She rearranges herself onto the pillows and watches him pull off his tunic and let it drop to the floor. He slides up to lay beside her and presses her whole body to him, clutching her tight like they were two children huddling for warmth.

"When shall I see you again?" she asks into his neck, even now preparing to bear the sweet pain of another visit all too brief.

"Wallace will need new ravens at the Shadow Tower before the turn of two moons," he tells her, stroking her back and kissing her hair. "Ironmen still trouble the coast, it is not a journey I would ask anyone else to take."

She nods, trusting his judgment implicitly. They fall asleep tangled in each other, but by morning Sansa is alone. _He is a man of the Watch_, she reminds herself, _and a Stark, like me. He knows his duty._


End file.
